Bearclaw Valley distant stars come in black or red.

The ruckus had drawn her in, though as it unfolded Phoebe had a grave wish that she hadn’t witnessed it at all. Her outskirt arrival to the dramatic scene unfolded just in time to see Merrick reach for the dog, and the very action stole the breath from her. It did not escape by way of a gasp or a cry, but instead leaked silently from her. She was rendered mute, uncertain of what had transpired but keen enough to sense that something cruel had led to this.

Yet the savagery that Merrick unleashed was certainly a dreadful sight to behold.

A chill wove its way up and along her legs, sinking low to her belly where it was left to stay; her mouth felt drier than any desert found, and her tongue of a finer grit than the sands therein. Had she sense enough to quiver she may have, but instead she found herself locked in place where the shadows felt deep and dark and all consuming—

What was going on here?

Her hackles prickled along her spine, and she forced herself to look away.

Even she didn't need to see what would happen next—the sounds would be enough.